


A Proper Goodbye

by MissMelysse



Series: CrushVerse [16]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 20:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMelysse/pseuds/MissMelysse
Summary: Zoe is about to leave the Enterprise for six months, and Data races to give her a proper goodbye.





	A Proper Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Runs concurrently with chapter 25 of Crush II: Ostinato.

**3 June 2368**

**U.S.S. _Enterprise _**

"Captain, the shuttle bay reports that the _Geneva_ is ready for launch," Data reports from his position at Ops. His tone is the same evenly-modulated sound he always produces during typical bridge operations. He is certain none of his colleagues – his _friends_ – can tell that it has taken three percent more effort than usual for his voice to sound… the same.

"Thank you, Mr. Data. You may tell the shuttle pilot to proceed when ready."

His response is interrupted by a rumble from behind him, Lt. Worf, standing at Tactical: "You _should _have gone down there to say goodbye to her." There is not a single person present who does not understand which 'her' the Klingon security chief means. Worf's next utterance, an almost perfunctory, "Sorry, sir," addressed to the captain causes everyone else to laugh.

Data chooses not to emit the combination of sounds that often passes for laughter when he wishes to join a group, still, a small part of him actually understands _why_ that tacked-on phrase is humorous.

In the next moment, something prompts him to explain, "I contacted Zoe by comm earlier this morning, when I first realized I would not be able to return to our quarters before she left. I am certain she will not hold it against me."

"Perhaps not," Worf replies. "But it changes nothing."

"Data…" The captain's voice has taken on that quality which Data has come to categorize as _fatherly_. "Mr. Worf has a valid point. I'm certain the _Geneva's_ itinerary won't be affected by a ten- or twenty-minute delay. Go give Zoe a proper goodbye."

Logically, Data thinks, he should not be so eager to take the opportunity being given. Logically, he should simply accept the knowledge that Zoe _does_ understand why he was not able to see her off in person.

His relationship with Zoe, thus far, has often defied logic. Zoe, he is certain, would have discerned the tiny quaver in his voice when he makes the request. "Permission to delay launch of the Geneva, sir."

"Permission granted. Worf, contact the shuttle bay. Hold launch until Commander Data indicates otherwise. Mr. Data… go."

Klingon and android answer, "Aye sir," at the same time, but while the former is keying open a comm-link to the shuttle bay, the latter is already disappearing through the port-side doors.

Oddly, Data's direction to the turbo-lift computer is not down to the shuttle bay, only to deck eight. Similarly, his feet do not lead him aft, to the secondary (and therefore lesser used) lift-bank, but forward, to his quarters.

Inside, he does not spare a millisecond to consider why he is at home instead of racing time to bid his girlfriend goodbye. Instead, he presses the catch to open the top drawer of his desk. He draws out a long, thin package wrapped in pale blue tissue and tied with a single gold ribbon and tucks it inside his uniform jacket. Only one word is pinging at the front of his consciousness: NOW.

He turns and leaves his – _their_ – quarters at a brisk walk.

**(=A=)**

**30 December 2367**

**Beach Haven, Centaurus**

They were en route back to her flitter after a day of shopping in Beach Haven, when she paused in front of a store, and gazed in a way he believes would be considered _longingly _through the window.

He asked if something was wrong, or if she wished to go inside, but she shook her head. He noticed her cheeks turning faintly pinker – she was embarrassed. "No. Just… a piece of jewelry caught my attention. We can keep going."

"Which piece interests you," he asked. They had been shopping for him all day, but if there was something Zoe wanted, he believed she should have it.

"That one."

He followed the direction indicated by pointed finger and his eyes lit upon the jewelry in question: a delicate necklace of rose gold and pink pearls. He could not see the price, but he suspected that he could easily afford it. He was about to suggest entering the store for a closer look, when Zoe sighed, and began to turn away.

"But I'm just looking, and we should really get going."

He, however, was still staring at the necklace, imagining it around the neck of the woman he is privileged to call his girlfriend, now. He took a moment to consider whether it would mean 'too much' if he acquired this piece for her now.

He was struck, suddenly, by the realization that Zoe is the only person he has ever gifted with jewelry. The mala beads he gave her to mark her sixteenth birthday have become a ubiquitous part of her wardrobe. There is also a pair of earrings he had yet to present to her – earrings that would complement that necklace without precisely matching it.

He began to move away, as he was blocking her path back to the sidewalk, but then he paused, turned slightly, and moved so that he was behind her but slightly to the side. "It would be aesthetically pleasing against your skin," he told her, unable to dispel the extrapolated image of Zoe wearing that necklace.

He heard her breath hitch slightly, saw her blushing reflection in the glass, heard her quip despite her embarrassed pleasure at his words, "Yeah, gold is totally my metal." Her blush deepened as she realized her unintentional pun – after all, he is both metallic and gold – and at the sight of their reflections in the window glass. "We look good together."

In less time than it took Zoe to blink, Data had already committed their reflected images to memory. She was correct, he realized. They did seem to fit well together. They… look… like the couple they had so recently acknowledged that they are.

He reached for the door, but she brushed past him, saying, "We should go."

**(=A=)**

**3 June 2368**

**U.S.S. _Enterprise_**

The turbo-lift is taking too long.

Over the last three months, three weeks, two days, seventeen hours and a number of seconds he does not bother to enumerate, Data has noticed a difference in his perception of time. It began when Zoe was his brother's captive and has continued since.

It is not that his internal chronometer has lost its calibration, for he is always in synch with the ship's computer. (He has also run several internal diagnostics, just in case.) It is more that his _experience_ of the passage of time has been altered.

He has come to understand the human concepts of 'long moments' and 'quick minutes.'

For zero point three five seconds, he considers simply crawling into the nearest Jeffries tube and sliding down the ladder to his intended deck, but not only would that call his state of mind into question, it would not save enough time.

For zero point zero four seconds he wishes that the _Enterprise_ had flights of stairs between decks, or even open ladder systems such as those that were in use on ancient submarine vessels. (He is aware of such ladders as much because Zoe chose _The Hunt for Red October_ for one of their recent video nights, as because of his own passing interest in both naval and maritime history – an interest, he admits to himself – that is becoming _less _'passing' now that he knows Zoe is fascinated by all things oceanic, not just fish with large teeth and dangerous water sports.

The 'lift comes, and, mercifully, it is empty.

He uses the few minutes of his journey to formulate the proper words to give his girlfriend, along with the gift he is bearing. He must explain, he knows, why he has kept it, cached in the one location she would never look, for so many months.

He must also tell her why he purchased it in the first place.

**(=A=)**

**1 January 2368**

**Beach Haven, Centaurus **

The first blush of their couple-hood was cut short when Data was recalled to the _Enterprise. _Were he not a consummate officer, and an android, he would have considered staying at least through the day. Instead, he made arrangements to be beamed back to his shuttle soon after dawn.

When Zoe suggested that they spend his last few hours on Centaurus watching the sunrise from the back deck of her family's home, he allowed himself the selfish indulgence, despite the knowledge that it would mean his girlfriend would miss sleep – sleep, he noticed, that she had been skimping on (her father's phrase) since his arrival.

He was certain that they would eventually find a balance between her need for rest and their mutual desire to spend as much time together as possible, but it caused the slightest of pings to his ethical sub-routine.

The ping was silenced by his recognition that Zoe was choosing to spend that time with him, and that there was an eighty-seven point six one four percent chance that she would sleep through most of the day after he left.

It was when he was sitting with her on the wicker sofa, holding her close, and breathing in the fruity scent of her hair and the salty tang of her skin, that Data's thoughts returned to the necklace, to the way he envisioned it against Zoe's skin, and to the look on her face when he presented it to her.

While his girlfriend, bundled in his uniform jacket, dozed against his chest in the chill of pre-dawn, Data made a plan. He would purchase the necklace for Zoe.

**(=A=)**

Once Data was back aboard the _Descartes_, he did what androids did best: he researched. It was simple to determine the name and contact information for the owner of the store. It took only a moment to comm the woman in charge and ask if she would open two hours early for a guaranteed purchase. She had been reluctant, but a burst of inspiration had led him to explain, "The necklace is a surprise for my girlfriend. I must leave in order to return to my post on the _Enterprise_, but Zoe is enamored with that piece of jewelry. I wish to surprise her."

When the woman had realized the intended recipient was Zoe _Harris_, she had been only too happy to open her shop for him, for a reasonable upcharge, of course.

It was not until he was midway through his journey back to the ship that Data learned exactly how appropriate the necklace was.

First, he had learned that pearls were referred as both 'mermaid tears' and 'mermaid kisses.'

Exploring further, he had discovered that pink pearls, specifically, were meant to represent a myriad of conditions and behaviors, including compassion, faith, happiness, kindness, love, loyalty, protection, and romance.

Data was intrigued by how well the necklace fit the concepts he wished it to convey, and he made a mental note to ask Zoe if _she _were aware of what the pearls _meant_.

**(=A=)**

**3 June 2368**

**U.S.S. _Enterprise_**

Data does not merely arrive at the shuttle bay so much as he bursts through the doors. The security officers and launch crew members turn to stare. They know he is typically the epitome of calm.

Lt. Worf's announcement is still ringing through the air, as he taps his comm-badge, "Data to runabout _Geneva,_ please confirm that launch sequence has been halted."

The pilot, his accent indicating Caprican origins, responds that it has and asks what the issue is. Beneath the young man's spoken words is the question, _Did I do something wrong?_

He assures the pilot that nothing is amiss, the halt is at the captain's request and involves a personal matter. The civilian passenger Zoe Harris is asked to temporarily disembark. While Data waits for his girlfriend to appear on the re-extended boarding ramp, he acknowledges the presence of her mother and soon-to-be stepfather, explaining, "I could not let her go without a proper goodbye."

The older officer smiles knowingly, and her partner's features quickly form an expression of mischievous delight, but they don't speak to him; they are merely watching.

Data moves to the bottom of the ramp as soon as he detects movement from the egress port of the runabout. He calculates that Zoe's first words to him will be to seek assurance that nothing dire has occurred, and he is not incorrect.

"Data?" Her voice is a mixture of confusion, concern, and surprise. "Is something wrong?"

He lowers his voice to a level only she can hear. "I could not let you leave without a proper goodbye." He is aware that he used that exact phrasing a moment before with her mother; it does not matter.

"You held the launch for that?" Her expression implies wonderment.

"Yes," he tells her. His voice sounds strange to his own auditory processors, more intense. He diverts a portion of his processing power to run a background diagnostic on that phenomena, increasing the allocation by an additional two percent when his next words come out with the slightest of breaks. "I held the launch for _you_."

"I love you," Zoe tells him. Her dark eyes are making imperceptible-to-humans back-and-forth movements that remind him of the way people say _his_ eyes move when he is searching his internal database, but the words come out in a rush, as if she is attempting to tell him everything she feels in one sentence or fewer. "I love you, and I'm going to miss you, and as much as I want this experience, I want to come home to you, just as much."

From anyone else, his answer would seem cold, but when Data utters the response, "I know," he means it on several different levels: He knows the depth of her feeling for him. He understands that she feels almost torn between leaving and staying. He completely comprehends that she will miss him, because he is certain he will experience a keen sense of loss while she is gone – almost as if there is a Zoe-shaped hole missing from each layer of his circuitry.

He retrieves the box from inside his uniform and puts it in her hands, explaining, "I purchased this for you before I left Centaurus in January." He watches as she slides the ribbon off the box, and then apparently uncertain of what to do with it, allows it to slip to the deck. ""I had intended it as a birthday gift, but I was advised that it would have been 'too much, too soon.' Then, I thought to present it as a belated Valentine's Day memento, but after what you went through, I believed it would only remind you of 'the bad parts.'"

His explanation is given in the same matter-of-fact tone he uses for most conversations, and he checks to see that she is comprehending, before he continues. "I did not wish to wait for your return, or for Christmas, or New Year's Eve. I am giving it to you now, because I suspect that you will have need of a piece of 'statement' jewelry while you are away-" In truth, he more than _suspected _this. In truth, Data had done research on the kinds of things traveling artists were typically asked to pack when touring with the Idyllwild troupe. He reflects upon this even as he is continuing to speak. "- and because… because I wish you to remember that I am devoted to you and will be counting each millisecond until we are together again."

Data watches as Zoe lets the last of the torn wrapping fall from her hands, and he studies her face as she opens the box that is the same pale blue that the tissue paper was. He notes the way her eyes first widen, then become dewy with tears as she recognizes the piece as the one she paused to look at, all those months before. He memorizes the way the gold and pearls shimmer in the harsh light of the shuttle bay, as she dangles the necklace from her fingers.

"Data… it's…" He watches her start and then falter in her vocal response. The change in their relationship from the time he gifted her with her bracelet to now is never more aptly illustrated for him, than in the fact that she instructs, rather than requests, "Help me put it on." He understands that her command is one from a woman to her lover, rather than a simple favor between friends, and a small subroutine registers something like satisfaction or completion.

Zoe turns her back and holds her hair out of the way, so that Data can lift the strand of pink pearls and rose gold over her head and fasten it at the back of her neck. He considers pressing his lips there, 'sealing it with a kiss' as it were, but they are in too public a place for that kind of intimacy. Instead, he whispers to her, his breath moving the loose wisps of her hair as he speaks. "I was correct in my original assessment. It does look aesthetically appealing against your skin."

Almost immediately, she has turned to face him, repeating her earlier declaration, "I love you," and adding, "God, Data," two words that typically mean she is overcome with… feeling.

He considers answering her with the line that has become his go-to response to that phrase, the one that makes her laugh more often than not. _But I am not God, only Data. _

He discards this idea.

Instead, he kisses her.

He more than kisses her.

Data slides his right hand around his girlfriend's waist and pulls her against his body. As her arms wrap around him, he lifts his left hand, using the curtain of her hair to obscure it when he teases the point over her carotid artery, just under where the gold chain meets her skin, and then he raises it higher, tangling it in the soft fruit-scented strands that provide him endless fascination.

His tongue invades her mouth, inviting hers, not to dance, but to duel, to see which of them can taste more of the other's essence.

Data can feel Zoe's pulse increasing and perceive the way her fingers are clutching at the fabric of his uniform, tugging him closer.

He does not care that the shuttle bay is full of working crewmates and this woman's own mother. He does not give pause to the knowledge that there is likely a second audience in the shuttle itself. He refuses to acknowledge his own subroutine reminding him that he is not only in uniform but _on duty_.

Data is aware of all of these things.

Data is also aware that this woman – _this woman –_ is not just a part of his life, or even a part of his programming, but that, if he has a soul – or the android equivalent of one – Zoe is part of _that_ as well.

When he ends the kiss, she is breathless and teary, and he is reluctant to release her.

"If you say 'goodbye' right now…" Her words are a warning he understands all too well, because he does not wish for a word that implies finality, either.

"I will not, because we will see each other soon," he tells her, willing her to believe him. "Instead, I will borrow a phrase from the captain and say à bientôt, my Zoe."

Her arms move from around his waist to around his neck in a last, tearful hug, and he uses the moment to nuzzle her hair one more time, to place a kiss on the top of her head, to whisper the word, "Etudes," even though he is ninety-seven point six nine eight percent certain she cannot not hear him.

He watches as she turns and runs back up the ramp, and then he taps his comm-badge and tells Worf it is alright to release the launch hold.

First the force field that will protect the observers from the vacuum of space is activated. Then the shuttle taxis into a position in line with the center of the bay doors. Finally, the doors are opened and the shuttle wooshes out of the great ship.

Data remains motionless until the doors are closed, and the force fields have all been deactivated. Then he bends to retrieve the discarded wrappings. He retraces his path out of the shuttle bay, only to be clapped on the shoulder by his best friend. He had not noticed the engineer's arrival, but he is not surprised.

"That was some kiss, my friend," Geordi tells him, the easy brotherly affection evident in his voice as well as his smile.

But it was not_ just_ a kiss, and Data must make his friend aware of that.

"No, Geordi," he corrects, "it was a proper goodbye."

**Author's Note:**

> The meaning of pearls is taken from a variety of sources, but the meanings also vary from culture to culture. The parts of this story marked December 2367 & January 2368 are from chapters 4 & 5 of For Auld Lang Syne, and of course, the last section is Data's side of the last scene in Crush II: Ostinato.


End file.
